


An Assortment of Angst

by savingprivatesimmons (black_twosugars)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Fake AH Crew, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4719737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_twosugars/pseuds/savingprivatesimmons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompts filled from <a href="http://savingprivatesimmons.tumblr.com/post/123734642131/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-line-of-dialogue-and-ill">this</a> list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Shh, c'mere..." - Freewood

**Author's Note:**

> All of these are currently freewood but I still have a few prompts in my inbox that I haven't written yet and they aren't all freewood (I have 2 RvB prompts and 2 AH ones). I'll try and get those done soon but I'm also working on my Ragehappy Secret Santa fic and there's no telling how long that'll take for me to finish.

Everything had all happened in such a flurry of rapid gunshots and frantic yelling and screeching tires that Gavin hadn’t realised that anything was wrong until the door was being bolted shut behind him and only one other set of footsteps echoing around the small safe house.

He slid down the wall next to the door and pulled his knees to his chest. There was a tear over his right knee and he was only just feeling the sharp sting where he’d grazed it; the skin was a foreboding purple and blue colour, crimson interlacing with it where he’d scraped the skin off. He vaguely remembered falling – the force of the explosion pushing him to the rock solid asphalt – but he hadn’t remembered the pain.

It was only now that the realisation of reality was crashing around him.

Picking at the fraying denim of his jeans around the injury, he vaguely took note of his quivering hands. It reminded him of the way Jack had shook his head before apologising before sneaking past the cops – his voice barely audible over the gunfire and other voices – and running in the opposite direction Ray close behind him.

“We’ll find another way,” Ray had called out over his shoulder before expertly aiming his pistol at the head of a particularly aggressive cop. Then he pulled the trigger and the brute fell to the floor as just another body among the rest.

Michael was next. His minigun falling to the floor with a loud clatter as a bullet tore through his shoulder. Blood seeped into the creases in his once-brown leather jacket and his pained expression was enough to let them know that there was no way he could fight for any longer.

Geoff, ever the hero, mowed down the offending cop in the LSPD car he’d jacked before throwing open the passenger door for Michael to clamber in. The door slammed, the tyres spun, and they were gone, only leaving behind a streak of blood as Geoff drove over the cop’s dead body to ensure he was dead.

Curled up on the cold, hardwood floor, Gavin still had no idea how he and Ryan had made it out alive.

His faint quivering had turned into full-on shaking as he thought of the others, no idea if they were dead or alive.

Jack and Ray could have been shot down moments after sprinting around the corner.

Gavin of all people knew how brutal the LSPD were when it came to car chases; Michael and Geoff could have been knocked around, smashed up, and slammed off the bridge which had barely been a block away from their heist location.

Anything could have happened.

Gavin’s eyes had begun to sting so he raised a shaking fist to rub away the tears, but it was no use. His chest was burning from hyperventilating and his heart was palpitating and there was nothing he could do.

He opened his mouth to breathe deeply but all he managed to do was let out a broken sob, and that was it. That was the straw which broke the camel’s back. An overwhelming sense of fear flooded his entire body and he _ached_ for it to go away. His chest contorted with every sharp intake of breath and every jagged exhale.

The heist was supposed to go well.

They were the Fake AH Crew; they seldom ever suffered from failure.

They had planned to meet back at Geoff’s penthouse and share $100 whiskey they’d bought with stolen money as they drank until they passed out from exhaustion or drunkenness – whichever came first.

An intense feeling of dread left a sickening bitter taste in his mouth as he tightened his grip on his legs, ignoring the sharp sting of pain from his injured knee. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart and his own ragged breathing. In fact, he could still smell the scent of smoke and gunpowder – a smell he had once thought of as glorious because it had always brought victory and adrenalin with it – but now it just fuelled the nauseating feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Gavin?” The word had been spoken tentatively, yet concern had laced Ryan’s tone.

It took all of Gavin’s efforts combined to blurt out, “are they dead?” as he whipped his head up to pleadingly stare at Ryan.

The older mercenary’s expression shifted from worried to something more mournful and regretful. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

The simple fact that the man with the silver tongue had just told the truth left Gavin burying his face in his knees again, breathing dissolving into sobbing once again.

“Shh, c’mere,” Ryan soothed, quickly moving forwards to sit on the floor next to Gavin, almost immediately pulling the younger man into his arms, holding him against his chest. Gavin leaned into the contact, raising a shaky hand to grip onto one of Ryan’s, unwilling to let go. He was terrified that if he let go, Ryan would be gone too.

“The LSPD are morons – there’s no way they’ll cause more than a flesh wound to our crew.” Ryan spoke softly as he tightened his hold on Gavin who was grateful for the firm grip; it grounded him, a reminder that Ryan wasn’t going anywhere. “Jack and Ray have played the innocent civilian role before so I wouldn’t be surprised if they did it again just to get away-” As Ryan talked – reassuring Gavin with every word that their friends (no, fuck that, their _family_ ) would have easily managed to escape the danger of the gunfight – Gavin felt his breathing slowly return to a normal pace.

“–And remember when Michael tortured some idiot cop just because he tried to taze him?” Ryan asked, and Gavin smiled at the memory, nodding his head. “There’s no way he would have let anyone touch him and survive.”

As Ryan continued to retell reassuring stories and anecdotes, Gavin relaxed against him, closing his eyes and listening to the steady thrum of Ryan’s heartbeat. It comforted him – just knowing that Ryan was safe and _alive_ made him feel a lot better – and somehow calmed him enough for him to slowly doze off, Ryan’s arms wrapped around him and the sound of Ryan’s voice soothing him to sleep. He was still anxious and terrified for the fate of the crew, but he felt confident that they had every chance of survival, and it was all thanks to Ryan.


	2. "You're not useless." - Freewood

Gavin’s hands were shaking with so much rage that he spilled the whiskey when he tried to pour it into a tumbler glass. In a fit of anger, he downed the small amount of golden liquid that ended up in the glass before hurling it at the wall, watching it shatter upon impact. He could clear it up later, he decided as he wiped away the spilt whiskey from the table with a rag he kept on his desk – he usually cleaned his guns with it, but it worked just fine with the spillage.

He picked up the bottle with one hand and tossed the rag to the floor with the other before taking a long swig from the bottle. The slight burning sensation tickled the back of his throat, but he didn’t care. Only when he needed to breathe did he set the bottle down on his desk.

He placed his palms on the wooden surface, grimacing when it was still slightly damp and sticky. Taking a deep breath, he held it for a few moments, and then exhaled as he let his mind cast itself back to the day’s earlier events.

The heist had initially been planned as a simple one; the seven of them were to walk into the bank, Ryan and the Joneses were to stay in the main area as crowd control, Gavin was to rig up the vault door with explosives he’d designed, Geoff and Gavin were then supposed to put the money into duffel bags and throw them into the helicopter Jack was piloting, Ray was situated in the chopper with a sniper rifle, then they were supposed to all get into the helicopter and escape before the LSPD arrived.

Anything that could have gone wrong went wrong, anything that could have broken ended up broken, and anything he could have screwed up was screwed up. Gavin legitimately wouldn’t be surprised if Geoff never let him on a heist again since it was entirely his fault.

To begin with, he had forgotten to lock the door before they all drew out their guns to keep everyone still. Some woman had ended up sneaking out of the room before anyone noticed.

A misfire from Gavin’s pistol ended up with a bullet tore through Lindsay’s leg.

(Lindsay had almost shot Gavin in his leg as revenge, but Michael somehow convinced her that she could get revenge in a far more entertaining way later.)

The explosions from Gavin’s C4 detonation had been a lot louder and bigger than he’d expected; a shard of shrapnel embedded itself in Geoff’s forearm, rendering that arm completely useless.

They lost a lot of time due to Geoff’s injury and only ended up bagging a quarter of the money before Ryan sprinted in to warn them of the police who had most likely been alerted by the woman who had escaped earlier.

In the end, only Lindsay, Geoff and Michael had managed to board the helicopter before a bullet shot by a police officer came dangerously close to shattering the glass windscreen. Geoff screamed at Jack to just fucking _go_ already, Gavin and Ryan can fucking take care of themselves, so Jack obeyed.

Ryan was the one to pull Gavin out of the LSPD’s firing range; Ryan was the one to hijack the car he found parked behind the building; Ryan was the one to shove Gavin into the backseat and cover him with a blanket before shoving his mask and iconic jacket down into the footwell of the passenger seat; Ryan was the one to snap “what the fuck is going on?!” at the cops as he drove into their sights (he grinned as he drove away after being told to get out of the way, there were still dangerous criminals in the area); and Ryan was the one to get them safely back to the base.

Ryan had practically saved the day with his ingenious spontaneity and quick thinking.

In the end, Gavin had always been useless.

That thought hung over his head as he slunk through the base, not daring to look up for fear of making eye contact with one of the others. He could already feel their eyes burning holes into his skin, so he headed straight to his bedroom.

The slight buzz of the alcohol finally hit his head and he grinned self-loathingly. Maybe if he finished the whole bottle he would forget that heist had ever happened. He was a fucking mistake; he had no idea why Geoff had even let him into the crew. All he ever brought was death, devastation and destruction – nothing good ever came from him being around. In fact, he may as well just drink until he passes out.

God, he wished he could, but the large bottle of Jack Daniels was all he had. The rest of the booze was downstairs in the cupboard. He half considered going downstairs to grab the largest bottle with the highest percentage of alcohol, but there was no way he could face anyone. Not after how spectacularly shitty that night had gone.

Gavin welcomed the way the faint buzz grew with every mouthful of honey-coloured liquid he swallowed.

He was so lost in his sole purpose – drink to forget – that he almost didn’t notice when someone knocked on his bedroom door.

Slamming the bottle down on the desk, he trudged over to the door and hauled it open.

He was met with Ryan’s ever-impassive face and he sighed, “what?”

“I’d like to talk to you.” Was all he said – nothing more, nothing less – cryptic and short as always.

“What if I say no?” Gavin asked, voice just beginning to betray how much he’d drank as he slurred his words ever so slightly.

“Then I’ll leave you alone.” Ryan replied calmly.

Gavin thought about it for a moment, then sighed again. “Fine,” he said, stepping aside to let Ryan walk into the room, before shutting the door once again.

As he entered the room, Gavin took note of the way Ryan hesitantly eyed the broken glass littering the floor and the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the desk. It was a good few minutes of heavy silence before Gavin inwardly said _“fuck it”_ and went to snatch the bottle from the desk again, only he was stopped when Ryan deftly swiped it up and held it out of his reach.

Gavin was almost about to fight him for it, but he wasn’t drunk enough to think that was a good idea just yet. Ryan fixed him in place with a stern glare which Gavin returned, albeit his was filled with bitterness and anger rather than whatever the fuck Ryan was feeling.

“Give it back.” Gavin demanded, pout turning into a dead-set frown as he snarled at Ryan when he refused.

“No.” Ryan retorted, a slight sense of disappointment mixed with irritation laced in his tone.

“Why not?” Gavin whined, annoyed that Ryan would refuse him his salvation; although perhaps Ryan wasn’t doing it for Gavin’s own good, perhaps he was doing it so Gavin would remember the exact way Geoff had stumbled backwards, shoes skidding on the floor and tattooed hand clutching at his arm as blood poured from the wound as well as the vivid memory of Lindsay’s shock and Michael’s rage as the gunshot echoed around the otherwise silent room. Or perhaps Ryan was here to deal more damage and he wanted Gavin to soberly take the pain.

“We all fuck up.” Ryan deadpanned. “Today was a disaster, I won’t deny that, but you’re going to learn from this. You’ll make sure your finger isn’t on the trigger when you’re waving your gun around, you’ll be a little more careful putting together explosives, you’ll double and triple and quadruple check all doors and exits when you’re on a heist. You’re going to make more mistakes, but hell, don’t we all?”

“Me more than others,” Gavin snapped back, bristling with irritation and anger; some directed at himself for being such a fool, some directed at Ryan for trying to help because _nothing_ could ever make this better. “All I do is screw shit up. This isn’t the first time I’ve messed up, and like you said, it won’t be the last. More people are gonna get hurt, and more people are gonna die. I’m a waste of goddamn space if you ask me. I’m useless.”

Ryan almost appeared taken aback at Gavin’s sudden outburst of emotion. His indifferent mask slipped for a moment, revealing something a lot more concerned and human. “You’re not useless,” Ryan confidently replied, actually sounding _hurt_ that Gavin would ever use those words against himself. “I don’t know anyone else who can rig up bombs as quickly or efficiently as you do. I don’t know of anyone else who hack’s into the LSPD’s database and treats it like no big deal. I don’t know anyone else who keeps morale as high as you do in dire situations. You’re just as important to this crew as anyone else.”

In his drunken haze, Gavin wasn’t sure how to process the words. It was as if his mind was completely refusing to accept it because he _knew_ it wasn’t true. He _knew_ he was just a piece of shit who almost got everyone killed. He _knew_ that everyone else thought the same so _why the fuck was Ryan trying to convince him otherwise?_ So he voiced his thoughts.

“Geoff and Lindsay could’ve died.” He stated in a hollow voice. All of a sudden it felt a lot more _real_ after saying it aloud.

“You’re right, they could have. But do you remember the Rockford Bank heist?” Gavin nodded, slightly confused as to why Ryan was bringing that heist up and he listened intently as Ryan continued. “I pulled out a rocket launcher from my spot in Jack’s helicopter to blow up the cop cars that were trying to block off Michael. One of the car wrecks collided with the car Michael was driving and he crashed and broke his arm.”

Gavin nodded again as he recalled how furious Michael had been after waking up in the med room in their base. He had even thrown his phone at Ryan when he went to apologise (but Michael was so drugged up on morphine and other painkillers that he’d missed and the screen shattered. Ryan silently apologised later by buying Michael a new phone).

“My point is that while there was some tension between us for a while, Michael forgave me because it was an accident and that’s what we do. Ray accidentally crashed Geoff’s Adder once, and he forgave him. Lindsay accidentally hit me with her car and I forgave her. We all make mistakes and we all forgive each other because we didn’t _intend_ to fuck up.” Ryan had completely dropped the somewhat indifferent façade by the end of his speech and Gavin was amazed by how genuinely emotional he was. “You have screwed up, but you are not a screw-up.”

Those few, ten words were the words that gave Gavin the first shove back onto his feet after falling into despair and self-hatred. He clung onto every single word Ryan uttered and savoured them, hoping to god that he wouldn’t forget them once he sobered up. His mind was whirring and he felt slightly unbalanced on his feet, but Ryan’s words grounded him.

“They may all be pissed at you, but you _need_ to understand that we need you… I need you.” That last part was muttered so softly and quietly that Gavin honestly wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or if he wasn’t supposed to hear it at all. “You’ve beaten yourself up over it enough, so go drink a glass of cold water and go to sleep.”

“But-”

“I’ll even get you the drink. Look, just don’t hate yourself for this, okay?” Ryan requested pleadingly.

“Why do you even care?” Gavin asked bitterly. “I mean, I’m really grateful for your help, but why the hell are you even bothered about this? I’m just another crew member, I don’t mean bugger-all to anyone unless I’m making bombs, holding a gun or sat behind a computer.”

Something in Ryan snapped; the soft, concerned furrow of his eyebrows disappeared, instantly being replaced by a sharp glint of determination in his eyes.

“Can I show you why I care, Gavin?” He asked, and Gavin nodded.

“Go right ahead,” he replied nonchalantly, prepared for absolutely anything.

Well, anything apart from this.

A jolt of fear shot up his spine when Ryan fisted a hand in the front of Gavin’s button-down shirt, yanking him forwards. Only when their faces were barely centimetres apart did Ryan quickly glance down to Gavin’s lips before looking at him directly in the eyes, intentions absolutely clear. Then he hesitated, giving Gavin an option to pull away.

He didn’t.

However, he was still completely unprepared for when Ryan leaned forwards and tentatively kissed him. He was still trying and failing to comprehend that Ryan had actually just done that when Ryan was pulling away, a soft smile on his face as he caught Gavin’s gaze.

“I can’t stand to see you hate yourself over a couple of accidents.” Ryan declared, releasing Gavin’s shirt and absently smoothing his hand over the small creases he’d made. “Go sit down and I’ll get you a drink – one that _isn’t_ alcoholic. Can I trust you to not touch that bottle while I’m gone?”

When Gavin found himself completely lost for words, he nodded and watched with wide eyes as Ryan smiled at him before swiftly exiting the room. In his absence, Gavin took a few moments to compose himself, raking his hands through his hair and fumbling to unbutton the top few buttons of his shirt as he took deep, steadying breaths.

Upon Ryan’s return, Gavin took the offered glass of iced water gratefully and eagerly drank from it. The sheer coldness of the drink somewhat sobered him, but he already knew that he’d have to sleep off his tipsiness. After drinking about half of it, he set the glass on his nightstand and turned to face Ryan.

“Sorry for being a prat,” he muttered, about to apologise further but he was stopped by Ryan.

“Don’t be,” he replied, “just get some rest, okay?”

Gavin sighed, glancing up nervously and thankfully at Ryan. “Yeah, okay… But what about-?”

“Unless someone is literally about to die if you don’t tell me what you were gonna tell me, I don’t wanna hear about it.” Ryan said. “We can discuss everything in the morning after everyone’s a lot calmer after some sleep.”

“Okay,” Gavin said, smiling as he unbuttoned and shrugged off his button-down, shucked off his jeans, and toed off his shoes and socks before clambering into bed and wrapping himself up in the warm duvet cover. Ryan returned the smile and was about to turn to leave the room but halted when Gavin spoke up again, “and Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” Gavin stated in a tone full of sincerity.

“Any time, Gavin,” Ryan replied. He then walked over to Gavin, pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, and smiled warmly at him before leaving and quietly closing the door behind himself.

The buzzing sensation that came along with Ryan’s kiss felt warm alongside the sensation of still being relatively tipsy. But instead of thinking about anything too hard – he’d only end up getting wound up again and this time he didn’t have Ryan there to save him – he closed his eyes and fell asleep within minutes, alcohol soothing his body as he drifted off into slumber. He could deal with whatever turmoil today had caused tomorrow; for now, sleep was all he cared about and he welcomed it with open arms.


	3. "Shit, you're bleeding." - Freewood

“I’ll be back by midnight, I promise. It’s only a few games of Lazer Quest,” Gavin had assured his concerned boyfriend. They shared a lingering kiss – one that they both savoured – before Gavin pulled his car keys from his pocket and left the apartment.

“This is gonna last longer than we planned.” Gavin cringed when he heard Geoff’s voice crackle through his earpiece. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the gunfire and the irritating screaming of civilians. Meanwhile, from his position outside the rear entrance to the bank, Gavin sighed and checked his phone. It was barely 11pm, but he still had a bad feeling about this.

“I’m gonna fucking _kill_ you for that!” Michael screeched at the cop who had shot Gavin. He had been lucky enough that the bullet had missed anything major, but it was still embedded in his left bicep, sending agonising twinges shooting from the wound every time he so much as shifted his arm. Michael pointed his gun at the officer and fired off six rounds into the asshole’s head.

“He had it coming,” Michael dryly commented, waving Jack over before heading back over to defend the entrance to the bank once again.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Jack insisted, hurriedly shrugging off the Hawaiian shirt he wore over a plain t-shirt and tying it tightly around Gavin’s bicep to stem the bleeding. “Get at least five blocks away and call for a cab.”

After escaping around the back of the building, Gavin sprinted the entire way until he reached one of the many 24/7 corner stores of Los Santos. He had no idea what possessed him to do so but after pulling his phone out of his pocket and grimacing at the numerous missed calls from his boyfriend, he dialled Ryan’s number.

“Gavin, where the fuck are you? It’s 2am and I’m worried about you.” Ryan spoke in an ushered voice due to how concerned he was. Gavin almost regretted calling him; he was going to struggle to come up with an excuse for this.

“I’m by the corner store on Milton Road; do you think you could come and get me?”

“Where’s your car?”

“At a friend’s house.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, per se. He’d left the Adder parked inside the garage at the Fake AH Crew’s base (which also functioned as Geoff’s house) and they’d taken the Fake AH-Mobile to the bank.

“Alright, I’ll be five minutes. Will you be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Gavin replied, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Ryan said before hanging up the phone.

In the end it was only four minutes and thirty six seconds before Ryan pulled up on the side of the street in front of Gavin in his Tailgater.

Gavin almost regretted standing next to the bright store because after Ryan rolled down his window, the first thing out of his mouth was, “Shit, are you bleeding?”

“It’s… no big deal.” Gavin awkwardly muttered, shifting to cover the crimson-stained fabric with his hand, but to no avail.

“Get the fuck in, we’re going to the hospital.” Ryan declared, throwing open the passenger door.

“No!” Gavin exclaimed defensively.

“Gavin, don’t be stupid.” Ryan replied with pleading eyes, worriedly glancing from Gavin’s bleeding arm to Gavin’s frightened face. What he didn’t know was that the reason he was scared was because he was terrified that his boyfriend was about to find out about his criminal life.

“You can’t take me to the hospital,” Gavin begged. “ _Please_ , Ryan.”

“Why not? You’re clearly hurt and I had to drive around a blockade of police who were shooting at some gang outside a bank to get here. Was it one of the gang members who shot you?”

Gavin couldn’t help but bitterly huff and smirk.

“If I get in the car will you promise to take me straight home?”

“I promise.” Ryan declared, voice convincingly unwavering.

Gavin knew that he could trust him not to lie, so he said, “okay,” and opened the door before sliding into the passenger seat.

“So… _was_ it the gang who shot you?” Ryan tentatively asked, eyeing Gavin’s wounded arm as he started up the car. “Because, y’know, I bet the LSPD would be really grateful for any statements you have.”

Gavin sighed and averted his eyes, cringing as he glanced out of the window. As Ryan turned around to drive back the same way he came, Gavin could just about make out the continuous stream of bullets driving into the hood of a police car in the distance as they drove away. Ryan almost slammed on the brakes in shock when the cop car blew up, casting an orange glow down the street; meanwhile, Gavin smiled as he thought of how eager Michael had been to use the brand new minigun Lindsay had bought for him as an anniversary gift.

“The gang didn’t shoot me,” Gavin nervously admitted, “the police did.”

The worry from Ryan’s face all but completely dropped, instantly being replaced with horror and fury and pure anguish. “They _what?!_ ” Gavin opened his mouth to explain – to confess his sins – but Ryan was already talking at a hundred miles an hour. “No, that’s it. I’m taking you to the fucking station. I’m not gonna let them fucking get away with this-”

“Ryan, stop.” Gavin pleaded. “They didn’t shoot me on accident.”

“That makes it even worse!” Ryan exclaimed angrily – although his anger was directed solely at the police and not at Gavin.

“They shot me because I’m a member of the gang that tried to rob that bank.” Guilt flooded Gavin’s entire body the second he made the hasty confession.

All anger seeped from Ryan as his face fell, lips parting in shock and his brow furrowing in confusion, almost in disbelief. He edged his foot onto the brake and indicated to the right, slowing the car to what Gavin assumed would be a complete stop.

“Please don’t stop the car, I need to get home.” Gavin begged, admitting the next part with a strained, fearful voice. “There’s a bullet in my arm and I need to get it out.”

“O-oh, okay.” Ryan stammered nervously for a moment before pressing down on the accelerator. And if he went slightly over the speed limit in order to get back to their apartment quicker, neither of them commented on it.

The ride home was filled with nothing but silence and Gavin’s occasional wheeze as his arm throbbed in agony. However, he didn’t dare voice just how bad it was; he didn’t want Ryan to worry any more than he already was. The poor man was already under enough pressure.

After they parked in the underground garage of their apartment building, Ryan grabbed a jacket from the backseat and draped it over Gavin’s shoulders, carefully minding his injured arm.

“You don’t want people seeing that, do you?” He asked, and Gavin shook his head.

Only once Ryan unlocked their front door did Gavin shrug off the jacket and grab the nearest pair of scissors.

“Do you need my help?” Ryan anxiously asked, awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do with himself.

“Can you get the first aid kit, a pair of tweezers, and a bottle of vodka?” Gavin requested as he carefully cut off the makeshift bandage Jack had tied around his arm. When Ryan returned with the items, Gavin took a swig from the bottle before pouring it over the open wound. He hissed when it stung agonisingly, but gripped onto the edge of the kitchen counter and bore the pain.

He felt a pang of guilt when Ryan had to force himself to watch as Gavin sloshed alcohol over the tweezers before using them to pull out the – thankfully still intact – bullet.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Ryan asked warily when Gavin threaded a needle before aiming it at the bullet hole in his bicep. There’s blood practically everywhere and Gavin has no idea how Ryan’s still watching – he’s always been queasy with gore, he could barely watch Jurassic Park without wincing at every close-up of the T-Rex’s bloody maw.

“It’s fine, it’s nothing I haven’t done before.” Gavin idly commented as he tried to figure out what angle would be the best for starting.

“That’s not comforting.” Ryan sharply replied.

“I’m sorry.” Gavin said, grimacing when the tension in the room felt almost as painful as the bullet hole in his arm. Then he got to work.

After haphazardly sewing it up with shaky hands – he really wished Jack had been there to help him – he taped a hefty amount of gauze over it to ensure he didn’t get blood on anything else.

“Here, take these,” Ryan said, handing Gavin two of the strongest painkillers they owned.

“Thanks,” Gavin replied with a smile, popping the pills into his mouth and using the vodka to wash them down.

The silence in the room was deafening. Gavin barely managed to muster enough confidence to lift his head to catch Ryan’s gaze, and he honestly wished he hadn’t. The disappointment, the fear, the hurt was all far too much for him to handle, so he glanced away again.

“How long have you been… y’know… in that gang?” Ryan tentatively asked, evidently unsure if he even wanted the answer or not.

Gavin almost considered not answering, but Ryan had just witnessed things no boyfriend should ever have to witness; Ryan deserved the truth.

“About six years.”

Ryan swallowed heavily, shocked by just how _long_ Gavin had been attached to the crew for.

“I take it you don’t work at the news station,” Ryan stated slightly bitterly.

“No,” Gavin replied, “I don’t.”

The next question took Gavin by surprise.

“Why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me about this?” Ryan asked, a certain sadness creeping into his voice and betraying his true feelings.

“It’s not that I didn’t trust you. And it’s not some bullshit about me not wanting you to get hurt either, because I know that you can take care of yourself.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’m a dirty criminal,” Gavin confessed truthfully. “I lie and I steal. Hell, I-I’ve even killed people. By the time I went and bloody fell for you I already knew that there was no way in hell that I could tell you about any of this. Because honestly, who would ever love someone like me?”

Although his voice was weak, and sorrow filled his shining blue eyes, Ryan declared, “I love you,” with enough intense emotion that Gavin believed that despite their situation, maybe they were going to be okay.


	4. "I'm not cut out for this." - Freewood

Ryan first notices it when he catches a flash of reluctance in Gavin’s eyes as he aims his gold-plated pistol and fires off a round into the forehead of a cop in the middle of a heist. It’s barely a flicker of hesitation but it still happened. It stirs up some curiosity within Ryan’s mind, but he leaves it at that; nothing more than curiosity.

The second time is far less significant, but there’s no denying the fact that Gavin just knocked out a bank teller instead of shooting her. The others will assume that he’s saving bullets, but Ryan is close enough to hear the “I’m sorry” he mutters into the lady’s ear before clocking her around the back of her head with his gun.

The third time is when Ryan thinks for half a second that Geoff is catching on. Gavin doesn’t join them for a post-heist celebration. Instead he walks home alone, but he still turns up the next day hungover, headache fuelled with regret and disdain rather than the euphoria the others had revered in jubilation over. In the end, Geoff just claps Gavin on the back, “we did good yesterday, buddy,” he proclaims, “these hangovers are fucking worth it.”

The smile Gavin gives doesn’t reach his eyes, but Geoff doesn’t notice that.

The fourth time Ryan notices it is when Gavin tells him that the bank blueprints he and Geoff need are in Gavin’s room. He takes that as permission to enter and he’s stunned with how tidy the bedroom is. Ryan had only been in Gavin’s room in the Fake AH Crew’s base once before – the room had been cluttered, guns on the floor, empty Red Bull cans littering the floor near the overflowing bin, posters and blueprints and schematics lining the walls. The cleanliness unnerves him, but he shrugs off the wariness he feels as he takes the blueprints out of a neatly organised folder before heading back downstairs to the heist room.

The fifth time is when Ryan almost says something. They’re planning a heist – all seven of them around the table, map laid out across it and Geoff’s already scribbling all over it in unintelligible writing – and Gavin says “I’ll stay here.” Everyone turns to look at him, and so he continues, “I’ll guide you through the bank and hack into the system to give you more time.”

“That’s fuckin’ genius, I love it,” Geoff declares, circling their base and writing down Gavin’s name and job for the heist. Everyone else thinks Gavin’s just trying to be clever and help; only Ryan catches a short glimpse of the relief that floods Gavin’s face.

The sixth time is when Ryan’s fears are confirmed.

The heist they were planning a few weeks ago was a success so Geoff had stopped off at the liquor store on his way home. The second they stumble through the front door Geoff doesn’t allow Gavin to leave; instead he forces a glass into his hand and pours a liberal amount of Jack Daniels into it.

“I could do with some air,” he says, heading for the glass sliding door that leads outside to the balcony and swimming pool.

As the others rejoice, clinking their glasses together and retelling stories of their favourite parts, Gavin silently retreats outside. Any other day Ryan would have joined the rest of the crew; would have satisfied their morbid curiosity by detailing the exact sobs and wails of fear his hostages made as he pointed his assault rifle at them; would have cackled as he retold how one particular hostage – some middle-aged businessman with a permanent scowl – screamed as he burned alive from Ryan’s flare gun after he had threatened to call the police.

Today he cracks open the can of Diet Coke Ray handed him before following Gavin outside, sliding the glass door shut behind himself.

Gavin’s leaning on the railing, lost in thought as he gazes out over at the skyline of Los Santos. Bright lights illuminate the sky, casting a luminescent orange glow above the insomniac city, and Gavin is transfixed by it.

As Ryan leans against the railing next to Gavin, he observes how Gavin is looking at the view. His eyes are wide and he almost looks in awe of its beauty. Ryan had never really considered Los Santos to be very beautiful – he knew of the horrors that hid in those darkened alleyways. Hell, he _was_ the horror of those alleyways – but Gavin’s awestruck expression makes him realise just how beautiful it is.

Gavin turns his head to give Ryan a questioning look, and it’s right then that Ryan realises he has no idea what he wants to say.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and it doesn’t feel right. Those aren’t the words he wanted to use. “You’ve been…” he struggles for a few moments, and then the perfect word comes to him, “withdrawn lately.”

Gavin shrugs and the small act speaks a thousand words for Ryan. Before any of this, Gavin would have denied, denied, _denied_ until he even believed it himself.

“You noticed, huh?” Gavin replies, turning the statement into a question with a simple noncommittal sound. He’s encouraging Ryan to talk and it suddenly hits Ryan that nobody ever really does that; everyone fights tooth and claw to have their voice heard above the rest, but Ryan’s never really needed words to express himself or get what he wants.

“You tidied your room.” Ryan states. Honestly, he has no idea why that’s the thing that bothers him the most. Although he supposes it makes sense in a way; anyone can feel regret at the thought of taking a life, anyone can feel guilt at partaking in a heist, anyone can prefer to hide behind a computer rather than stand in the line of danger, but Gavin would defend his messiness until his very last breath.

Even Gavin seems taken aback, because he doesn’t fight off the smile that works its way onto his lips and he nods. “Yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

“I…” Then Gavin sighs, raking a hand through his hair and sipping his whiskey. “Geoff would kill me if I left a mess. He’d drag my arse back to the crew just to get me to tidy it up and bin all of my crap.”

Ryan furrows his brow. “I think I’m missing something,” he confesses.

“You’re still way ahead of everyone else,” Gavin admits with a soft – almost fond – smile. “Nobody else noticed, but you did.” He paused for a moment, frowning as he tried to wrack his brain for something that just wouldn’t come. “Why did you notice?”

Honestly, Ryan knew exactly why he noticed. He paid a lot of attention to everything – in his line of work, every little detail was important – but he had always been that little bit more attentive when it came to Gavin. It was the same reason he only saw the true beauty in the view from the balcony after he had seen how awed Gavin had been by it.

“I pay attention,” he replies, and it’s not a _lie_ , per se, it’s just not the whole truth. “I’m worried about you,” there, that’s more like it.

Gavin takes a deep breath and sighs, downing the rest of his whiskey and staring out at the city once more. He’s conflicted, that’s for sure – the heavy weight on his shoulders is keeping him hunched over as he leans on the cool metal of the railing. Ryan knows the look of inner turmoil; he’s experienced it himself more than he’d like to admit.

“I don’t think I’m ready to tell anyone just yet,” he says quietly.

Ryan nods, “of course, I understand.”

“So you can’t tell anyone, okay?” Gavin tentatively adds on, and Ryan’s almost taken aback at the suddenness. If Gavin can’t even bring himself to talk to Geoff (or any of the others, really) then why the fuck is he telling Ryan? He’s not complaining, he’s just curious.

“I promise.” Ryan declares.

Gavin takes a steadying breath, then makes his confession; “I’m leaving.”

“I don’t understand,” Ryan admits in confusion. Those two words have the potential to carry any kind of meaning – he could be leaving to go back inside, he could be leaving to go home, he could be leaving to take a vacation, and there’s another kind that Ryan doesn’t want to even consider.

“I’m leaving the crew, I’m leaving this city, I’m leaving.” He repeats in an ushered voice as if it’s difficult to confess yet a weight off his shoulders at the same time.

Ryan’s never been good with words anyway, so now he feels as though he’s been completely robbed. He’s lost for words and the pained and shocked expression on his face doesn’t even cover _half_ of how he feels right now.

“I’ve enjoyed my time here, but I can’t keep doing this anymore.” He says sadly, sorrow drifting onto his features and replacing the once-conflicted expression that had knitted his brow. “I’m not cut out for this, I’m sorry.”

Each word is another blow, knocking Ryan even further back. If this were to happen to anyone, Gavin would be his last bet. He can literally imagine _anyone else_ leaving; Geoff might start a family with Griffon and they would leave both their respective crews behind, Michael and Lindsay might go off on their own in a Bonnie and Clyde style, Jack has always had a soft side so he might get a job in an animal shelter or something just as adorably sweet, Ray could pursue a career playing video games.

When Ryan stays silent, Gavin continues to explain. Maybe he feels as though Ryan deserves it, or maybe he just wants Ryan to know. “I first thought of quitting when me and Michael were robbing some convenience store. I was supposed to shoot the cashier bloke but I froze… Dunno why, I just couldn’t bring myself to kill him.”

Ryan listened intently, nodding when Gavin glanced over to see his reaction.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it afterwards… Then it happened again and again until I caved and hit someone with my gun instead of shooting them.” Ryan hummed, remembering the bank heist in which Gavin hadn’t killed a single person. In fact, Ryan couldn’t even remember the last time Gavin had killed someone. “I’ve already moved all of my personal stuff out of the base and back to my apartment. Now all I’ve gotta do is tell the others.”

“Will we ever see you again?” Ryan asks, uncaring that he sounds desperate. The list of things Ryan wanted to do – with Gavin alone and with the crew – is under risk of being cut short. He doesn’t _care_ if he sounds desperate.

“Maybe,” Gavin replies, and that’s it for Ryan. That’s the single, short word that breaks him. He hunches over and leans his weight on the barrier, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I don’t _want_ to never see you again, I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Ryan straightens up and cocks his head at Gavin questioningly; he’s reserving his words for something important. He doesn’t know what that means, but the last thing he wants to do is talk too much and end up tripping over his words when he needs to say something important.

“Because if we all hang out after I quit there’s a 99% chance that we’ll end up getting drunk and robbing some poor bastard’s convenience store,” Gavin explains, “I don’t want to get tempted to come back.” He says it with determination but there’s a distinct underlying hint of regret; he clearly doesn’t want to do this. It’s his last resort.

“But I don’t… I…” Ryan huffs and takes a deep breath to steel himself before continuing, making the confession that has been desperate to escape ever since he realised it all those months – maybe even years – ago. “I need you.”

Gavin’s eyes widen and he looks as if he’s just been given the worst but best news in his entire life; and, in a way, Ryan understands. As Gavin nods, Ryan realises that Gavin needs him too. The feeling is mutual but the feeling is bittersweet. They couldn’t have chosen a more inappropriate time to admit these feelings, but at the same time they couldn’t have chosen a more appropriate time.

“I need you too, Ryan,” Gavin whispers, almost afraid of the words as they flow freely from his lips.

And, as if that had been the confirmation they both needed, Ryan was leaning in, but he stopped when he was close enough to feel Gavin’s warm, alcohol tainted breath on his face. He takes in the view for a moment, admires the way Gavin’s hazel eyes appear to shine in the dim lighting of the balcony, memorises the way the gentle breeze ruffles his hair, absorbs Gavin’s presence.

“Can I kiss you?” Ryan asks, and he almost regrets the words the second they leave his mouth. He almost believes that he’s made a mistake, but then Gavin’s too busy pressing his lips firmly against Ryan’s to reply. The soft sensation of Gavin kissing him is something Ryan is never going to forget.

The weight of their previous conversation lingers in the air and Ryan kisses Gavin like it’s their last kiss as well as their first because, well, neither of them knows what the future holds. All Ryan knows is that Gavin’s leaving and he’s going to memorise the exact way Gavin’s fingers curl in his hair, the exact way Gavin’s lean body fits neatly against his own as if it had been crafted to fit there, the exact way Gavin kissed back until he was out of breath.

They had all the time in the world to worry about the future so Ryan leaned in closer, kissing Gavin far more passionately as he cast aside every thought and every concern. For now, they had each other and that’s all that matters, pushing aside all lingering worries and thoughts of everything that wasn’t the sensations of their bodies and lips pressed against one another, hands intertwined in clothes and hair.


	5. "It's YOUR fault!" - Freewood

The sterile stench of hand sanitiser hangs heavy in the air. The incessant beeping of the heart monitor brings hope but is irritating all the same. The clacking of Jack’s footsteps on the tile floor is steady and almost in-time with Gavin’s own heartbeat.

Gavin hates waiting.

His heart has been stuck in his throat for who knows how long and he’s jittery. _Fuck_ is he jittery. He hasn’t stopped bouncing his leg ever since perching himself on the edge of the uncomfortable plastic chair positioned next to the hospital bed.

The worst thing is the sickening feeling of Michael staring at the back of his head; he almost feels like Michael’s actually going to bore a hole through it.

He doesn’t blame Michael, of course he doesn’t.

He isn’t the reason their boss is unconscious in the hospital bed in the middle of the room.

Gavin will deny it until his dying day, though. It’s all he’s ever known; deny, deny, deny. He’d only confess that it was his fault after ten-too-many tequila shots in the dim lighting of the moon as he and Geoff sat outside their base on deck chairs, deep conversations and cackling laughter surrounding them.

Gavin’s too agitated for this – feels like he’s about to burst. He sits on that chair for no less than ten slow beeps of the heart monitor – four of Jack’s footsteps – before he’s standing up, turning to face Michael.

To Gavin, anything is better than silent waiting, even conflict. In the end, Gavin’s always resorted to conflict. Now is no different.

“What?” Gavin snaps, staring down at Michael from where he was stood across the small intensive care room, leaning against the counter by the wall.

“What?” Michael echoes with a slight tone of confusion. He’s playing as though he has no idea what Gavin’s talking about. But Gavin’s always been good at having the upper-hand, even if Michael has aces up his sleeve.

“If you have something to say, say it.” Gavin demands, bitterness dripping from his voice.

“I just…” he begins, but then he quickly glances at Geoff and something seems to occur to him. His hardened pout slips and he catches Gavin’s gaze. “No.” He states clearly. “There isn’t.”

“No, Michael. You just _what_?” Gavin persists, staring Michael down from across the room.

“Nothing,” Michael says, waving a hand absently as if to brush Gavin off, “it’s not important.”

“Well clearly it is,” Gavin retorts, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders to make himself seem more intimidating and less like the scrawny and clumsy twig everyone assumes he is. He’s well aware of the way his tight shirt enhances the muscles of his arms and the lack of any extra weight. He knows he can be menacing when he wants to be, so he uses it to his advantage. “So what was it?”

“No, Gavin.” Michael repeats it sterner this time, holding Gavin in place with a dead-set stare. He has to admit, it sends a shiver down his spine; Michael’s always been easily able to strike fear into the hearts of the most dangerous and threatening criminals in Los Santos with his wicked smirks and intense stares. Gavin is no exception to that rule. “Now isn’t the time or place to be discussing this. Whatever I have to say can fuckin’ wait. Are you _seeing_ the state Geoff is in right now? Do you _really_ want to start something while he’s like that?”

“I’m not trying to start anything.” Gavin declares in an honest tone. It’s a lie, but they don’t need to know that. They don’t need to know that the only way he can deal with his emotions is through fighting, be it verbally or physically.

“It sure fucking sounds like it.” Michael snipes back, irritation betraying his once-calm guise.

Gavin mentally cheers at the slip of expression. “I just wanna know what you were about to say.” He replies innocently.

Michael shakes his head. “Like I said,” he spits, “it’s not important.”

“Michael,” Gavin almost leaps out of his skin when Jack speaks up, his tone calm and soothing as he stops pacing and stands still. “Just say it. Nothing can be as bad as what’s already happened tonight.”

Michael takes a deep breath and sighs, a resigned yet determined expression crossing his face as he catches Jack’s eye. Then he stares Gavin in the eye and says it without a single hesitation. “You’re the reason Geoff almost died tonight, Gavin.” Despite knowing exactly what Michael was about to say, the words are still a punch to the gut for Gavin.

Also, despite knowing that Michael wasn’t wrong, he fights back. Ruthlessly.

“That wasn’t _my_ fault, what the bloody hell are you on about?!” Gavin squawks indignantly. “The C4 that blew too early and destroyed the building too early while we were still in here? Yeah, they were _your_ explosives.”

“That doesn’t fucking change anything.” Michael snaps, clenching his hands into fists and taking a step towards Gavin. “You were the one who told him that he had time. That’s on _you_ , not me.”

“I told him we had time because we _did!_ ” Gavin exclaims adamantly and marches over to Michael, using the small inch of height he had over him to his advantage. He stared down at Michael, fire in his eyes and fury in his veins. “If you hadn’t bloody blown those explosives then we’d all be at home, not _here_ , standing around Geoff’s hospital bed with no goddamn clue if he’s gonna make it.”

“He’ll make it-” Jack interjects, but Michael speaks over his soft tone with one filled with anger.

“You’re not fucking _listening_ , asshole,” Michael growls, glaring up at Gavin. “You _knew_ we didn’t have enough time yet you _still_ told Geoff he’d be fine. The bombs went off and we barely managed to pull Geoff out of the wreck.” By this point Michael has raised his voice to  the point where he’s practically screaming at Gavin. Despite the fact that Michael’s raging like Gavin’s never seen before, he almost kind of enjoys it; being angry at Michael is distracting him from being terrified for Geoff.

However, Michael’s next half-screamed statement catches Gavin off-guard. It’s another of the many punches to the gut.

“It’s all _your_ fault!” Michael hollers it so loudly and with so much intense anger and genuine distaste that it slips past Gavin’s defences.

Before this, riling Michael up had been somewhat of a ‘how angry can I make him before he hits me’ game. Now Gavin was regretting his decision.

“N-no, if you hadn’t-” Gavin begins, but he stammers into incoherence when Michael cuts him off with a gruff growl of irritation.

“No, shut the fuck up, Gavin.” He hisses through gritted teeth, staring at Gavin with an expression that can only be described as purely _acidic_. “Geoff almost died and it’s _your_ fault. You can’t pawn off the blame on anyone else because it was _your_ actions that lead to him still being in the building when it fell. Lean to fucking take responsibility for your own goddamn actions, you fucking piece of shit.”

“No, _you_ shut the fuck up, how the hell was I supposed to know that it was-” Not for the first time that night, Gavin was cut off. This time, however, it isn’t by being interrupted. Michael draws his fist back and slams it into the side of Gavin’s face, sending him stumbling backwards. He rubs his bruised jaw and straightens himself, stuck in a daze for a few seconds before realising what had just happened.

Michael had punched him.

Instead of shouting back and attempting to resume the shouting match, Gavin launches himself forwards to shove Michael until his back collided with the wall, a thud resounding in the room.

Michael’s shocked for barely half a second before his eyes narrow and he heaves himself forwards, scrabbling to gain the upper-hand until Gavin trips, sending them both falling to the floor. They don’t stop there; Michael knees Gavin in the stomach and manages to land a couple of weak punches to his chest before Gavin pins Michael to the floor.

Gavin’s only in that position for less than a second before there’s a fist grabbing onto the collar of his shirt and he’s being hauled to his feet and thrown over a shoulder. Meanwhile Ray and Jack are using their combined efforts to keep Michael in the room as Gavin’s captor – who he can only assume is Ryan – carries him out of the room and down the seemingly never-ending corridors.

At some point Gavin quits resisting and just lets Ryan carry him outside; he’s only let back onto his feet once they’re safely outside of the building and in the play park on a patch of grass just a few feet to the building’s left.

Gavin scowls sharply at Ryan as he adjusts his clothes and brushes off imaginary lint before huffing at him.

“You needed a time-out,” is all Ryan says as he calmly strolls over to sit on one of the swings.

“So you brought me to the play park?” Gavin asks as he joins Ryan, sitting down on the swing to Ryan’s left and swinging his legs, resulting in the swing slowly swaying.

“Well, you _were_ acting like a child,” Ryan replies, and Gavin can just about make out the smirk on his face in the dim lighting of the building’s glow and the moonlight.

“When do I get to go back inside?” Gavin queries, a hint of hope in his tone. Honestly, he just wants to go back to be with Geoff (despite how much he _doesn’t_ want to see Michael right now). Believe it or not, he really was scared. This was the closest any of them had ever come to death. Gavin knew it was his fault, but the past is in the past.

“When you’ve calmed down,” Ryan states.

“I _am_ calm.” Gavin sternly insists, trying to catch Ryan’s eye but to no avail; the man in question is busy glancing up at the clear night sky.

“No you’re not.” Ryan declares, and Gavin sincerely wishes Ryan was less unflappable. He was in an almost constant state of nonchalant calmness; he’s always cool and collected in any given situation. Well, unless he was interrogating someone because that’s a whole different story.

“How can you tell?”

“I’m smart like that.” Ryan says and Gavin can actually hear the smug grin in his voice if he listens intently enough.

Gavin shrugs, “fair enough,” he says, and continues to slowly swing. The rhythmic action is actually pretty calming. He regulates his breathing to the steady swings; he inhales as he swings back, and exhales as he swings forwards. It’s a nice constant in the sea of uncertainty that is their lives.

Minutes pass by in their mutual silence; the only noise that breaks it is the occasional car or ambulance which drives in and out of the parking lot they can just about see from the park. People walk in and out – some hurriedly rushing, some with a spring in their step, some trudging along solemnly – whilst he and Ryan continue to slowly swing back and forth.

Gavin doesn’t know what possesses him to say it (he’s always been one for acting too cocky and too good for sincerity), but he blurts out a quick “thank you” into the dead of the night.

It clearly catches Ryan off-guard for a moment because he whips his head to stare at Gavin in confusion for a couple of seconds. Then he smiles softly and says, “no problem. Things in there got out of hand way too quickly. Someone had to stop you two before you beat each other senseless.” Gavin nods and listens intently to Ryan – his voice is rich and deep and soothing and if Gavin were laying down he probably could have fallen asleep to it, he was just that tired. “Besides, I couldn’t let either of you do any lasting damage to one another. You’re Michael and Gavin – Team Nice Dynamite – you’re practically inseparable. I don’t think this crew could handle it if you two hated each other.”

“Michael had valid points though.” Gavin says, softly sighing as he thinks of how _angry_ Michael had been. It really was all Gavin’s fault. The guilt was eating away at him again, practically boring a hole into the centre of his chest. “It’s my fault that Geoff’s in there.”

“What’s done is done, nothing can change that.” Ryan declares with a tone of finality to his voice. “If we’ve learnt anything from tonight it’s that every single person in this crew is too important to lose, and that includes you. You might’ve made a mistake tonight, but we’ll all learn from it.”

Gavin doesn’t know what to say to that – doesn’t know if he can even speak – so he pretends his eyes aren’t glistening with tears but he rubs at them anyway. When Ryan stands from his swing Gavin follows suit and glances up at him, waiting for him to say something.

“So, are you ready to go back inside?” Ryan asks, and Gavin has no idea what possesses him to do it but before he knows he’s even moved, he’s already got his arms wrapped around Ryan’s shoulders, face buried in the crook of his neck.

“Thank you,” Gavin murmurs into Ryan’s neck.

Ryan doesn’t respond; he simply pulls Gavin closer and keeps him trapped in the warm, comforting embrace. Words cannot express how grateful Gavin is for Ryan, so he hugs him tighter, only releasing him once he felt as though he had enough confidence to face the world without hiding behind Ryan.

They share a soft smile – one reserved for their eyes only – before Gavin nods at Ryan and they head back into the hospital together. Once they silently breach the door to Geoff’s room, three sets of eyes are immediately upon them, but they remain silent. Michael and Gavin nod at each other in a mutual acceptance and Gavin stands next to Ryan as they wait for Geoff to wake up, not as five individuals, but as a crew; together.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr at [savingprivatesimmons](http://savingprivatesimmons.tumblr.com/)!!


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